


Run Away With Me (Anytime You Want)

by Just_A_Simple_Writer



Series: Summertime [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (as usual), 80s AU, First Kiss, Gerry is a punk, Helen is a cat, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mary Keay's A+ Parenting, Michael is just a normal human, Past Character Death, Smoking, There's no spoopy entities, Underage Drinking, gerry is soft for michael and helen and no one else, homoerotic hair dyeing, theyre just teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26161120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_A_Simple_Writer/pseuds/Just_A_Simple_Writer
Summary: A conversation they had a few weeks ago suddenly springs to mind. Michael had been talking about running away, for some reason, and Gerry had laughed, said you can run away with me anytime you want.Michael wants that, now. He wants to get into Gerry's car and drive away from this town and never come back.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Series: Summertime [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899712
Comments: 35
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i was not born in the 80s and ive only been to america once  
> disclaimer 2: this is not a coherent story just different drabbles in the same universe stuck in one work. i figured it would be better this way
> 
> title is from my chemical romance's summertime

Michael isn’t sure where he’s going. His head hurts, and he’s stumbling aimlessly down the road, just wanting to get away from his father. Helen wriggles, pokes her head out of the too-big pockets of his coat. He doesn’t know why he’s brought her, but he doesn’t want to leave her behind. He’s not sure he’s going back.

It’s never been that bad before. His father has always pushed him around a bit, but there’s blood dripping down his face and he doesn’t even know how he’s still walking, because everything _hurts_.

It was his own fault, really. He should’ve just given Gerry his stupid shirt back as soon as he could. He doesn’t even know why he’d kept it.

Well, he kind of does. It still smelled of Gerry, of sea-salt and cigarettes, and for some stupid reason it made Michael feel safe.

That had all gone out of the window tonight, and Michael can feel his eyes stinging with tears even as he walks.

It’s a few minutes before he realises where he’s going. There’s a Seven-Eleven a little way out of town, and Gerry always parks there when he’s out late at night, leans against the hood of his beat-up old car and smokes. Some nights Michael goes to join him, sits against the hood just far enough away that they’re not touching and drinks a slushy, and for a little while they’re at peace.

Michael wants that right now. Gerry’s like a hurricane; he tears up everything around him, but if you get close enough there’s an odd peace that Michael treasures.

The car’s there tonight, and Michael nearly cries with relief. It’s parked just out of the light from the shop, and Michael can see the dark shadow of Gerry, the tiny light of his cigarette.

A conversation they had a few weeks ago suddenly springs to mind. Michael had been talking about running away, for some reason, and Gerry had laughed, said _you can run away with me anytime you want_.

Michael wants that, now. He wants to get into Gerry's car and drive away from this town and never come back.

Gerry's seen him coming and he drops his cigarette, grinding it out under the heel of his boot.

He doesn't move, though, not until Michael's standing directly in front of him.

"That's a shiner," he says, reaching out and brushing his thumb under Michael's black eye.

"Yeah," Michael mumbles. He's never told Gerry about his dad, and he doesn't really want to explain now, either.

Gerry doesn't ask. Just offers him a cigarette, which Michael refuses, as he always does.

Gerry leans back against the hood and Michael joins him, scuffing his feet against the ground.

He doesn't know how to ask for what he wants, doesn't know if Gerry was even serious when he suggested running away together. If he brings it up and Gerry stops talking to him he doesn't know what he'll do. Gerry's the only friend he has.

"Want a drink?" Gerry asks, a moment later.

"Yeah," Michael mumbles. He doesn't drink often, but maybe the alcohol will make him feel better.

If Gerry's surprised he doesn't show it, just goes around to the side of the car and pulls out two bottles of cheap, shitty beer.

Michael lets him open them both with his keys and accepts the one he's offered.

The beer tastes like piss and it's barely got any alcohol in it at all, but Michael chokes it down anyway.

Helen wriggles in his pocket, sensing that he's drinking something, and pokes her head out of his pocket to meow loudly. 

"This isn't for you," he says, and glances up at Gerry.

"Hey there," Gerry says, reaching out to scratch her behind the ears. He loves her, and it always makes Michael smile to see how gentle he is. 

She loves him too, and Michael guesses he sneaks her food whenever Gerry's sitting on the expensive couch in Michael's lounge and looking painfully out of place.

Gerry glances up and their eyes meet, just for a second.

"You've got…" Gerry says, and reaches out to wipe blood off Michael's face.

It stings a little, but Michael won't complain, not when Gerry's rough fingers are on his face, gentle.

God, Michael's so far gone on him. It's bad, he knows it's bad. Gerry will _never_ return his feelings, probably wouldn't even _speak_ to him if he knew Michael was gay, but he can't help it, and the rush he gets when Gerry touches him is better than any alcohol he's ever had.

Helen meows again and Gerry tickles her fur, a smile tugging at his lips. He's not as hard as he pretends to be, really. 

Michael just scuffs his shoes on the floor. They were expensive, he thinks. Probably cost more than Gerry's entire outfit.

Gerry calls him _rich boy_ sometimes. When they're fighting. Michael hates the nickname, and hates the fact that he knows Gerry feels like he's somehow inferior because Michael's dad has money.

Michael doesn't even know if Gerry _has_ parents. All he knows is that the tag in the leather jacket Gerry's so precious about says _Eric Delano,_ and when Michael had asked about the name Gerry kicked him out of the car and left him standing by himself on the side of the road. In the rain.

They're standing closer than they usually do. It's because of Helen, because Gerry's hand is half in his pocket. Michael wants to say _you can hold her_ , but that would mean Gerry would move.

So he doesn't. Just stays quiet and watches the way Gerry's hair falls over his face.

"Gerry," he says, suddenly, and Gerry looks up.

He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to ask.

"You ever think about running away?"

"Yeah," Gerry says, leaning back. "Told you, I'll run away with you anytime you want."

Michael goes quiet for a moment. The words sit in his mouth, unspoken. 

It feels … different. Gerry usually phrases it like Michael can tag along with him, like Michael's an afterthought in Gerry's plan.

This time it's different. Like Gerry would drop everything to go with him.

"I want to," he blurts out, meeting Gerry's big blue eyes.

Gerry just regards him for a moment. "Now?"

Michael nods. "Don't want to go home."

Gerry's eyes dart up to the bruises on Michael's face, the drying blood.

"Alright," he says, and pushes off the hood. "Let's go, then."

"Don't you want to get anything?" Michael asks, hesitant.

Gerry shakes his head. "'s all in the car, and I've got a full tank of gas. We can be out of the state by morning."

"Okay," Michael says, and his heart soars.

"Jump in," Gerry tells him, getting into the driver's side.

Michael scrambles into the passenger seat and puts his seatbelt on. Rationally he knows Gerry's a little tipsy, and probably shouldn't be driving, but right now he doesn't care. He just wants to get away.

Helen curls up in his lap as soon as he takes her out of his pocket, and seems to go to sleep. He doesn't think she's ever been in a car before, and he wonders how she'll cope.

Gerry starts the car, kicks it into gear. Music blares out of the speakers as soon as he does, and Michael winces, waiting for Gerry to turn it down.

He does, but doesn't turn it off, just leaves it in the background.

Michael's on edge until they pull onto the interstate, though he knows Gerry wouldn't take him home, not even as some sort of cruel joke. Gerry's not like that.

They pick up speed, racing down the interstate and away from town, from Michael's father and everything he's ever known, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

Gerry's drunk. They've been sharing a bottle of vodka, and he's drunk most of it.

Still, Michael thinks he might be a little drunk too. He feels light, a little giggly.

He's not as drunk as Gerry, though. 

It's cold in their room. Gerry was smoking earlier, and he opened the window.

_Michael_ isn't cold, though. He has Gerry's soft leather jacket draped around his shoulders, because Gerry saw him shivering.

It smells of him, and Michael cuddles into it.

Gerry's just smiling at him right now, and Michael watches, though he doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"I like you in my jacket," Gerry says, suddenly, and Michael feels his cheeks go red.

Gerry can't just _say_ things like that. Michael's already in love with him, and now, while drunk, with Gerry saying things like that then maybe Michael won't be able to stop himself from saying something really, really stupid.

"Thanks," he mumbles, trying to stop his heart racing. He knows Gerry doesn't mean anything by it, that he's just drunk and being friendly, but somehow it doesn't feel like that.

He doesn't _want_ it to be like that.

Gerry reaches out and adjusts the collar a little, his hand brushing against Michael's neck.

"You're so warm," Michael blurts out, and Gerry smiles, slow, reaching out to press his palm to Michael's cheek.

His hands are warm and rough, and Michael's sure his face is on fire. They're much closer than they usually get, even when they're forced to sleep in the same bed.

Michael kinda never wants this to end.

"You're pretty when you blush," Gerry says, giving him a wide, lopsided smile. 

Michael doesn't know what to say to that. He opens his mouth, closes it again. 

Gerry's drunk enough that he doesn't even seem to know what he's saying, but Michael does. The words settle under his skin and stay there.

"Been driving me crazy," Gerry says, his voice low. "You don't even know."

"You're drunk," Michael says, his voice shaking. He doesn't want Gerry to talk like this if he doesn't mean it. Michael loves him too much, can't deal with being led on.

Gerry's leaning closer. "Doesn't change anything," he says softly. "Not drunk enough to lie to you."

They're hardly any distance apart and his hand is still resting on Michael's face, and Michael doesn't know what to do. Gerry's so close, and he wants to lean forward and kiss him. It would be so easy.

But he never gets the chance, because Gerry does it first.

He tastes of cheap alcohol and cigarettes, and Michael barely knows what to do with himself. He's never kissed a boy before, only girls when he was trying to force himself to be straight, but this is different, and so much better because it's _Gerry._

It only lasts a second, and then Gerry's pulling away again, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips.

"You kissed me," Michael says, when his mouth remembers how to make words.

"Yeah," Gerry says casually, like he hasn't just shaken Michael's whole world off its foundations. "Wanted to for ages."

"Oh," Michael says. "I, um. Me too."

The smile he gets is the brightest he's ever seen on Gerry's face, and his heart does a backflip in his chest.

"Can I do it again?" Gerry asks.

Michael nods, of course, leaning in before Gerry this time, and they bump noses before Gerry tips his head and presses their lips together.

It makes Gerry giggle, and just reminds Michael how drunk he is, but he doesn't think he cares, not when Gerry's in his space and kissing his breath away.

He feels like he's floating on air. Like he's dreaming. This is so unreal, but he knows from the warmth of Gerry's lips on his and the pressure of his hand on his leg (when had he put that there?) that it's so wonderfully real.

Gerry lays back on the bed after a bit, his eyes crinkling from how much he's smiling. 

"Can't go back to your bed," he says, mischievously. "There's a cat on it."

Michael glances over, finds Helen curled up on his pillow.

"So there is," he mumbles, smiling. "Gotta stay here. With you."

"With me," Gerry agrees. "You're _not_ sleeping in my jacket, though."

"It's cold," Michael whines, not really caring how petulant he sounds. He's drunk, and Gerry _kissed him_.

"I'll cuddle you," Gerry promises, and Michael relents immediately, stumbling across the room to lay it on a chair.

"Used to sleep in your shirt," he admits on the way back, the alcohol making him braver.

Gerry laughs. "God. Really?"

Michael nods, climbing into the bed and into Gerry's arms, resting his head on his chest. As promised, Gerry cuddles him.

It still feels so surreal, but Michael falls asleep content.


	3. Chapter 3

“What do your death sticks taste like?” Michael asks, sidling up to Gerry where he’s leaning against the door of his car and smoking. It’s the middle of the night and no one’s around, but Michael’s still a bit anxious about putting his arm around Gerry’s waist.

“Why do you want to know?” Gerry asks, giving him a half-smile. He smiles so much more these days, and Michael loves it.

“Curious,” he says, burying his head in Gerry’s chest.

Gerry just snorts, takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Odd thing to be curious about.”

Michael shrugs, feeling his cheeks go red. He knows exactly why he’s curious, but he isn’t going to admit it to Gerry

“Gonna tell me?” he says, instead of _I want to know if they taste the same as they do when I kiss you,_ because that sounds weird.

Gerry thinks about it for a moment, taking another drag and blowing smoke into the air.

“Maybe,” he says, and hooks his finger in Michael’s collar, pulling him closer.

Michael blinks at him, smiling a little, and watches as he takes another drag of the cigarette, but he doesn’t blow the smoke into the air. He pulls Michael down and kisses him, exhaling the smoke into his mouth.

He chokes, of course, and Gerry laughs, but Michael really doesn’t think he minds. It doesn’t taste as good as it does on Gerry’s lips, but he doesn’t really care, not with Gerry kissing him like that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uwu whats this? me coming back to an old fic with new ideas?

Gerry has a tongue piercing.

It’s not a _new_ thing. He’s had a tongue piercing as long as Michael’s known him, but Michael’s been thinking about it more lately.

It’s because they’ve been kissing. It’s because Michael’s been focused on Gerry’s mouth a lot. It’s because of a thousand different things, but the point is he can’t quite stop thinking about it.

They’ve kissed a lot, but it’s always just a soft press of lips, gentle and chaste. For all his hard edges, Gerry’s always gentle, almost skittish.

Michael loves him for it, of course. He can’t _not_ love him, not when his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles and when he makes friends with every stray cat he meets and when he cries at night, if he thinks Michael’s asleep.

Michael loves him for all his softness, but right now he wants more, wants Gerry to kiss him deep enough that he can feel the tongue piercing for himself.

Even thinking about it is really something, and Michael can’t think about it for long before his whole face is burning.

Gerry chews on his lip when he’s distracted, flicks his tongue out to play with the ring in his lip, and Michael can see the little flash of metal, and it’s so _distracting_. He just finds himself staring at Gerry’s mouth, at the way he tugs at his lip, and he feels his cheeks slowly redden.

“You’re watching me,” Gerry says, low and amused, and Michael’s eyes fly up. It seems Gerry is not as distracted as he’d thought.

“You’re pretty,” he blurts out, feeling his cheeks burn, and Gerry just laughs, leans over to kiss him softly.

Michael tugs a hand through his hair, wishing he’d tied it up. It tends to fly all over the place when he leaves it, but Gerry sometimes cards his hands through it, and he doesn’t do that when it’s tied up.

“What were you thinking about?” Gerry asks, leaning back, and Michael’s eyes flick back down towards his mouth, almost of their own accord.

Gerry grins and flicks his tongue out, and Michael makes a noise sort of like a cat whose tail has just been trodden on.

Gerry laughs at that, of course. “The piercing?”

How does he always _know_?

“Yeah,” Michael says. He’s blushing furiously, his whole face hot with it. He’s never been good at talking to Gerry, not about things like this.

“I’ve had it ages.”

“I know,” Michael says, desperately trying to keep himself vaguely under control.

“You think it’s hot?”

Michael thinks _everything_ about Gerry is hot, but this in particular is especially so. It takes him a moment to work up the courage, but he nods.

Gerry laughs again (he’s been doing it a lot more, recently, but Michael hasn’t mentioned it), and leans a little closer again, so Michael can smell the smoke on his breath.

“Cute,” he says, and then they’re kissing again.

It’s different this time. Gerry seems to know what Michael wants without him ever having to ask.

He does almost pass out when he actually feels the piercing against his tongue. Nearly swoons, like some _damsel_.

Gerry would catch him, though. He knows that.

He presses his hands to his face as soon as Gerry pulls away, trying to cool the heat there. He’s probably blushing all the way to the tips of his ears, but the way Gerry is looking at him is nothing short of fond, and he doesn’t feel as though he minds. At least not that much.

He feels … dizzy, almost, but a good sort of dizzy. A warm sort, that makes him a little tingly.

He’s so in _love_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chunk has been up on my [ tumblr](https://jaysworlds.tumblr.com/) for a while now, i just forgot to post it here as well
> 
> the new chapters should be posted over the next week, assuming i remember


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'the next chapters should be posted over the next week' i said 'i'll totally remember' i said
> 
> whoops. sorry about that

Gerry doesn’t often let Michael pick the music. He has very particular tastes, and he doesn’t agree with Michaels.

Sometimes, though, he’ll be feeling charitable, and he’ll let Michael pick a tape from some small thrift shop they pass and play it for a while.

He got a new one recently. An album of jazz hits that had only been twenty cents.

Gerry doesn’t like it, or says he doesn’t. He makes a show of pulling a face every time a new song comes on, but Michael sees him nodding along to the music when he thinks he isn’t looking. He’s only keeping up appearances.

Not that Michael would ever judge him. He’s bene in love with Gerry since forever, and as far as he’s concerned Gerry could never be less than perfect.

“Hey,” he says, suddenly, swerving across four lanes of traffic to pull off the road. Someone honks. “I think I deserve a reward for putting up with this garbage.”

They pull into the carpark of a Wendy’s and stop just outside the door, cutting off the engine. The music dies with it.

“Shame,” Michael says, just to watch the way Gerry rolls his eyes.

The carpark is almost empty, but then again it’s only nine in the morning. Not many people want food at this sort of time.

Not many people have been driving since five, though.

Helen wakes up as soon as Gerry opens the door, yawning widely and kneading the seat with her tiny paws.

“You can’t come,” Michael tells her, scratching her behind the ears in the way she likes. “Sorry.”

She doesn’t seem to mind, settling back into a pile of worn clothes on the seat.

“Hey slowpoke,” Gerry calls, and Michael slips out of the car and over to his side. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

“I had to tell Helen to stay,” Michael protests.

Gerry snorts. “You dote on that cat.”

“She deserves it,” Michael says, and doesn’t mention the fact that if _he_ dotes on her, then Gerry spoils her totally rotten.

He’s not brave enough to take Gerry’s hand as they walk into the restaurant and over to the counter, but he thinks about it as they stand side by side, staring up at the menu.

Gerry orders burgers and milkshakes for both of them, and then chicken pieces, almost as an afterthought. He doesn’t like chicken, and Michael suppresses a smile.

They sit opposite each other in a booth and wait for their food, legs tangled together under the table where no one can see.

“Where do you get all this money?” Michael asks, honestly curious. It’s not like Gerry can have a job, not the way the two of them live.

He’s not surprised when Gerry just grins and taps the side of his nose. “That’s for me to know.”

Michael huffs a quiet laugh and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. It’s getting long, and he kind of loves it.

Gerry’s looking at him so fondly, eyes sparkling, and Michael feels himself blush.

They’re interrupted by the waitress before he can say anything, and then they’re too busy eating to talk, so Michael just watches. Watches the light glint off Gerry’s lip-ring as he eats, watches him screw up his face when he drinks the milkshake too fast and gets brain-freeze. Watches him meticulously pick the batter off the chicken pieces.

“What?” he says, when he notices Michael staring, and the tips of his ears go red. “I don’t like batter.”

“You don’t like chicken, either.”

Gerry snorts, a smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe my tastes have changed.”

Michael just laughs, his heart swelling. Gerry _has_ changed since they ran away. He’s softer, more prone to smiling.

He has such a beautiful smile, and Michael loves it. Loves everything about him.

Gerry doesn’t eat the chicken, of course. Michael declines to mention it when he catches him feeding it to Helen.

This new life of theirs is pretty great.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this one saved in my notes as DONT FORGET TO POST THIS ONE and guess what? i didn't forget! so here you go

“My hair’s growing out,” Gerry grumbles, walking into the bedroom of the motel they’re staying in for today.

Michael looks up from playing with Helen. “Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s blond.” Gerry wrinkles his nose, clearly disgusted.

“I’m blond,” Michael protests, in mock offence.

“It looks good on you.”

Michael blushes a little. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Mhm.” Gerry isn’t paying attention. He’s frowning into a nearby mirror at the dirty-blond roots of his hair. “This blows.”

He strides across the room and kisses Michael quickly, taking him off guard. “I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.”

And then he’s gone, grabbing his jacket from the chair he’d left it on and disappearing out of the door.

Michael does wait up, of course. He waits until Gerry stumbles back through the door, smelling of cheap booze and cigarette smoke.

“You’re awake,” he slurs, when he sees Michael.

“Yeah,” Michael says, slipping out of bed. “You’re drunk.”

“’s fine,” Gerry insists, dropping a plastic bag on the ground and carefully slipping his jacket off. “Go to sleep.”

Michael hesitates, watching Gerry pull his shirt over his head and throw it onto the floor. “Are you going to dye your hair now?”

Gerry makes an affirmative noise and picks up his bag, stumbling towards the bathroom. Michael tears his eyes away from the muscles in his shoulders and frowns. “You’ll make a mess.”

“So?”

Michael takes a deep breath and summons his courage. “Let me help.”

He isn’t sure what Gerry will say. Sure they’re technically _boyfriends_ now, but they haven’t done much besides kiss, and it feels private. Like the kind of thing Gerry will want to do alone.

But he doesn’t. “Okay,” he says, and there’s a smile pulling at his lips as he ushers Michael into the too-small bathroom and closes the door.

The light is bright, when he turns it on, and Michael screws up his eyes for a moment. He’s tired, it’s true, but he wants to help.

Gerry sits on the toilet lid and offers Michael the bag, looking at him expectantly.

Michael swallows and pulls everything out, putting it on the sink. It’s not much, just a box containing two bottles and a leaflet.

He reads through the leaflet once, and again. And then again, just in case.

“Do you have gloves?”

Gerry blinks slowly at him. “No.”

Fine. That’s fine. It’ll probably wash off, anyway.

He mixes the bottles together and shakes well, until it looks right. Or what he thinks looks right.

“Turn around,” he says, and Gerry obediently does.

It’s easier like this. Without Gerry’s eyes burning into his.

Still, his hands feel like they’re shaking.

He squeezes a little of the mixture into his palm and takes a deep breath before he starts working it into Gerry’s blond roots.

It pulls a soft sigh out of him, quiet and content, and Michael relaxes, just a little. Gerry likes this. He’s doing well.

He’s wanted to touch Gerry’s hair for so long, but he’d never thought Gerry would let him. He feels rather honoured.

Gerry hums quietly as Michael rubs his scalp, almost the same way he does to Helen when she rubs against him, asking to be petted.

The thought makes him smile. Gerry’s just a big cat.

He probably uses too much off the mixture, but it’s already working, colouring Gerry’s hair an inky black.

That’s what the colour was called. Squid-ink black.

They have to wait, after that, and Michael makes the horrifying discovery that the colour doesn’t come off. His hands are stained, as is everything he’s touched.

Gerry seems to be half asleep and so Michael doesn’t bother him, just tries to calm himself down with the thought that they’ll be long gone by the time anyone finds the mess. They won’t get into trouble.

Still, he does his best to scrub most of it off.

“Hey,” he says, once the time is up, and Gerry mumbles something that could be a reply. “We need to rinse.”

Gerry mumbles an assent, or what sounds like one, and pulls himself over to the sink.

Washing his hair under the taps proves difficult. Michael’s made a lot more mess by the time he finally gives up and finds a cup instead, using that to wash out the excess dye.

It’s fine, though. More than worth it to get Gerry’s hair in his hands.

The water seems to have woken him up a little, but his eyes are still bleary and unfocused, and a small, selfish part of Michael wishes he were sober. He wants Gerry to remember this. To enjoy it. To want it to happen again.

Michael certainly wants it to happen again.

“Thanks,” Gerry slurs, when Michael starts towel-drying his hair (just another casualty of the black dye). “’s nice.”

“It’s okay,” Michael says, feeling a blush creep up his face. “It’s … I wanted to help.”

“You always do,” Gerry says, and then he’s snoring, head on Michael’s chest.

It’s a cute snore. Gerry’s cute when he’s sleeping.

Michael struggles getting him into bed, but he manages with minimum damage to the carpet.

He doesn’t even have the energy to tidy, once he’s done. Just curls up with Gerry and falls asleep.

Gerry thinks it’s hilarious when he wakes up the next morning.

“Thought you wanted to stop _me_ making a mess,” he teases, and Michael groans, burying his head in his hands.

Gerry is grateful, despite the teasing, telling Michael in-between soft kisses.

It’s okay. Michael’s just happy to have helped.

Gerry leaves a hundred dollars on the sink when they leave, and Michael nearly chokes. Gerry won’t tell him where he got the money, just assures him that it’s fine, he has plenty.

And it is fine, in the end. Michael doesn’t mind that Gerry has secrets.

They’re together, and they’re happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the seventh and final chapter is still being written but its coming soon i promise! there is plot! mary is there! i am very excited!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wayhay! i did it! this is complete for the second time!

Gerry’s been … antsy, recently. He doesn’t like to stay in one place too long, and sometimes Michael catches him looking in the mirrors when there’s no one around, almost like he’s expecting someone to be following them.

He won’t tell Michael what it is. Just drives over the speed limit and smokes a little more than usual.

Michael worries, of course. He worries that Gerry isn’t looking after himself, worries that something’s gone wrong.

Sometimes he even worries that Gerry’s regretting running away at all. That he doesn’t want to be with Michael anymore, and that he’s trying to find a way to get rid of him.

Helen seems to be the only one who isn’t worried about anything. She still takes naps on the backseat and gets two meals a day, plus treats. She has nothing to worry about.

Michael wonders what she’ll do if Gerry leaves them. She loves him, sometimes more than she loves Michael, and he doesn’t want her to be sad.

Maybe he would leave her with him. He’d probably look after her better than Michael would.

He doesn’t want to think about it, but sometimes he can’t help it.

Gerry hasn’t changed towards him, but still, he worries.

Gerry doesn’t sleep very often. They’re staying in motels more rarely, sleeping in the car more often, and whenever Michael wakes in the night he finds Gerry staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide. Sometimes he’s crying.

“Gerry?” Michael asks one night, when they’re pressed together in the back of the car. “Are you okay?”

Gerry sits up a little, looks at him with damp, red-rimmed eyes. “You should be asleep.”

“So should you. Aren’t you tired?”

“Not really.”

Michael sighs, wriggles around until he can look Gerry in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Gerry looks away, for a moment, over his shoulder and out of the window.

“I miss my dad,” he says, finally.

He’s never talked about his parents before. Never once mentioned either of them to Michael. He doesn’t mind, of course. He’s never really told Gerry about his parents, either. It’s just been a topic neither of them ever bring up.

Michael doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if Gerry’s dad is dead or just gone. If there’s any possibility of them finding him.

Gerry sighs, and for a moment he seems deeply unhappy. Michael doesn’t think he’s ever seen Gerry unhappy before. Not like this, at least.

Michael plays with a lock of Gerry’s hair, inky black. They’d dyed it in the last motel they’d stayed in, staining the sink and Michael’s fingers, but the roots are already showing through.

“I just … miss him,” Gerry says, turning and burying his face in Michael’s shoulder. “I didn’t even-” he breaks off for a moment and rubs his eyes. “I didn’t even get to go to his funeral.”

Michael doesn’t have anything to say to that. He just holds Gerry while he cries and plays with his hair, and eventually he falls asleep.

Michael doesn’t sleep. He’s thinking too hard, about Gerry and his father, and what happened to the man.

If the jacket Gerry loves so much used to belong to him.

Gerry’s back to normal the next morning, or as close to normal as he gets these days, and they don’t talk about it. Still, it plays heavily on Michael’s mind as they get back on the road, Gerry’s music playing too loud to speak over.

Michael wants to know what’s eating him. He wants to be able to hold Gerry until he feels better, until everything’s okay again. He wants to be able to _help._

But he can’t. Not if Gerry won’t speak to him.

He finds that some of the paranoia is rubbing off on him. He catches himself glancing over his shoulder every so often, though he has no idea what he might be looking for.

He doesn’t like it when Gerry leaves him alone.

It’s not that he’s scared. Well, he is scared, a little, but he doesn’t know what there is to be scared _of_.

Gerry not coming back, maybe. Whatever it is that _Gerry’s_ so afraid of.

He doesn’t ask, though. Gerry wouldn’t tell him anyway.

It’s days, weeks, even, until anything actually happens.

They’ve been driving for days, almost non-stop, and Michael’s so tired. He hasn’t even been the one behind the wheel, and he can’t imagine how Gerry must be feeling.

“We have to stop,” Gerry tells him, eventually, and Michael could cry with how relieved he is. “We need food.”

“We need to sleep,” Michael says, and Gerry shakes his head.

“A few more days. Please.”

“Gerry,” Michael says softly, but he knows he won’t win this fight.

“Just a few more days.”

They stop outside of a non-descript superstore, parking haphazardly across two spaces. It vaguely occurs to Michael that Gerry shouldn’t be driving at all, but there’s little he can do about it if Gerry won’t listen to him.

“Stay with the car,” Gerry tells him shortly, dropping the keys into his lap and kicking the door open. Michael can see how tense his shoulders are, and he knows he doesn’t want to be here. “I won’t be long.”

“Alright,” Michael says, stuffing the keys into his pocket, though he doesn’t intend to sit inside the car. He needs to stretch his aching legs.

Gerry disappears into the store and Michael looks into the backseat, to see how Helen’s doing. She’s asleep, unbothered by everything going on.

“Lucky girl,” Michael mumbles, and pulls himself out of the car, wincing as his legs protest.

How long has it been since he stood up? Too long.

He knows Gerry told him to stay with the car, but he really needs to find a bathroom, and it won’t hurt if he’s gone for a couple of minutes. He’ll be back before Gerry, anyway.

And he is, but he finds a strange woman standing by the car, peering in through the windows.

Something about her puts Michael on edge, but he pushes it away. She’s probably just seen Helen through the window, that’s all. It happens.

She looks up when Michael approaches and gives him a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

She’s tall, blond hair scraped back into a bun, and something about her is … almost familiar. It makes Michael very uncomfortable.

“Do you need something?” he asks, trying to be polite.

“I was just admiring your cat,” she says. “Does she have a name?”

“Helen,” Michael says, glancing into the car. Helen is still fast asleep on the backseat.

“She’s lovely. May I stroke her?”

Perhaps if she were anyone else Michael would say yes, but he doesn’t trust this woman.

“Sorry,” he says, pretending to be apologetic. “I don’t want to wake her up.”

The woman smiles thinly. Michael's sure she isn’t happy, but she doesn’t protest. “Alright.”

He expects her to walk away, but she doesn’t. Just stands there. Michael's really starting to get anxious.

“Do you … need something?” he asks again. He doesn’t have the courage to tell her to leave, but he hopes Gerry will get back soon.

The woman gives him another humourless smile. “I’m just waiting for someone.”

“This is my car,” Michael tries, and she tips her head a little.

“Is it?”

He doesn’t like that. It feels too much like she _knows_ he’s lying, though he doesn’t know how she would.

But he sticks to his guns. “Yes.”

“Aren’t you leaving, then?”

Michael swallows and glances towards the entrance of the store. No sign of Gerry. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“A friend?”

“Yes.”

The woman just hums, a smile pulling at her lips, and Michael doesn’t like it. He wants to leave, but he doesn’t know how to drive and he couldn’t leave Gerry, so he just has to wait.

“Where are you from?” the woman asks.

“The west coast,” Michael lies, not wanting her to know anything about him. “I’m on holiday.”

Again, he gets the impression that she knows he’s lying, though he doesn’t know how. “How lovely. Where are you staying?”

“Nowhere,” he says, perhaps too quickly. “Just passing through.”

“Lovely,” she says again, and everything she says is so … flat. There’s no emotion in her voice at all.

He glances towards the entrance to the store again and finally spots Gerry’s distinctive black hair.

The relief that flows into him is overwhelming, at least for a moment, but then Gerry stops, face going pale, the relief twists, going sour.

He’s staring at the woman standing beside the car, and Michael has never seen him look so terrified.

Gerry doesn’t get scared. He’s the bravest person Michael has ever met, and Michael has _never_ seen him truly terrified.

Except now.

The woman spots him and her mouth twists into a cruel smile.

“Gerard,” she says. “It’s so good to see you again.”

For a moment Gerry doesn’t move, and then he’s running, putting himself between her and Michael. He still looks so terrified.

“Get in the car,” is all he says, and his voice is shaking.

Michael doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to leave Gerry out there with her.

“Get in the _car_ ,” he repeats, and this time Michael listens, fumbling with the key in the lock and scrambling into the seat, praying that Gerry gets in too. He’s terrified too, though he isn’t even sure why.

Gerry doesn’t take his eyes off the woman as he backs around the car and into the front seat. She doesn’t move until he’s fully seated, and then she takes a few steps so she’s standing right beside the window.

“Keys,” Gerry says, and he sounds like he’s only moments from crying.

Michael's hands are shaking, but he manages not to drop them, handing them to Gerry, and he forces them into the ignition.

The car doesn’t start. It grumbles once and again and then goes silent.

The woman taps gently on the window and Gerry locks the door.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, and Michael can see him shaking. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.”

“Gerard,” the woman says, tapping on the glass again. “This is very rude of you, really.”

“Fuck you,” Gerry mutters, and twists the key again. The car still refuses to start, and Michael can see tears starting to gather in his eyes.

He wants to say something, to assure him it’ll be alright, but his throat is too dry.

“I can help you,” the woman offers, and Gerry slams his fist into the glass of the window. It cracks, hairline fractures spreading beneath his hand.

“Fuck,” Gerry breathes, and twists the key in the ignition again. The car grumbles for a moment and then thankfully, mercifully, the engine splutters into life.

“Fuck,” Gerry says, yet again. “Thank fuck. Thank fucking god.”

He slams his foot on the ignition and they go flying forward. Michael's face nearly slams into the dashboard and he hastily fumbles with his seatbelt.

He’s driving recklessly, swerving around the other cars as he gets them back on the road, about twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and he keeps glancing in the wingmirrors of the car, like the woman will have somehow run after them.

“Gerry,” Michael starts, when the tears begin to slip down his cheeks. He feels a bit like crying as well, but for now he thinks he’s still in shock.

“Don’t,” Gerry snaps. “Just … shut the fuck up for a bit.”

He takes one hand off the steering wheel and fiddles with the knobs on their stereo. The music that blares out of it is far too loud, but he doesn’t turn it down, and Michael is too afraid to ask.

Not of Gerry, of course, but of upsetting him further.

They don’t speak for a very long time. Michael has so many questions, but Gerry is still crying silently, staring out of the windscreen, and he doesn’t want to ask.

It’s not until it gets dark that they finally stop, and it seems like the moment they’re off the road Gerry collapses, sobbing.

Michael has never seen him like this before, and he so badly wants to help.

“Gerry,” he says, softly, and cautiously reaches out to touch Gerry’s shoulder. “Are you…”

He stops.

Gerry doesn’t reply, head still resting against the steering wheel, and Michael doesn’t blame him.

The angle is awkward and uncomfortable, but Michael does his best to wrap his arms around Gerry’s shoulders, to hold him despite having to lean over the gear stick.

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if there _is_ anything to say, but he holds Gerry and Gerry clings to him like he doesn’t know what else to do.

Michael doesn’t pull away until his back is aching, and when he does Gerry doesn’t look at him.

“Need a smoke,” he mumbles, and kicks the door open, leaving Michael sitting alone in the silent car.

He stays there for a moment and then decides that Gerry shouldn’t be alone out there, not when he’s like this.

He slips out of the car and closes the door behind him, glancing in the back to make sure Helen is alright. She’s somehow still asleep, even through all of this.

“Gerry?” Michael asks, going to stand beside him. Gerry doesn’t look over, and Michael guesses he’s still crying, though it’s too dark to see.

“It’s fine,” Gerry says, and he’s definitely still crying.

Michael sighs and steps closer, resting his head on Gerry’s shoulder. “No,” he says, quietly. “It’s not.”

He so badly wants to ask _who was she, why are you so scared of her_ , but he doesn’t. Not yet.

Gerry puts an arm around his shoulders, but he doesn’t say anything, blowing smoke out into the darkness.

They stand there for a while, together.

“I’m sorry,” Gerry tells him, eventually. His cigarette is long finished, crushed beneath the heel of his boot.

“It’s not your fault,” Michael says, twisting his head to kiss Gerry on the cheek.

Gerry tangles a hand in his hair and pulls him closer, kissing him properly, and Michael may be a little surprised, but he’s not complaining.

He could never complain about kissing Gerry.

He tastes of cigarette smoke and a little of salt, and Michael can just hope he’s providing a little comfort.

Gerry pulls away eventually, resting his forehead against Michael's, and Michael reaches up to cup his cheek, sticky with tears.

“It’ll be okay,” he says, though he doesn’t exactly know what _it_ is.

“Maybe,” Gerry says, and something like the ghost of a smile passes across his face.

“It will,” Michael promises, though he knows he can’t protect Gerry, not if it comes down to it. He can only be there to pick up the pieces.

Gerry kisses him again, soft and chaste.

“We need to sleep,” Michael tries, and watches Gerry’s face darken.

“No,” he says, and there’s a desperate note in his voice. “Not here. Not…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Michael can guess what he would have said.

“Alright,” Michael says slowly. “On one condition.”

Gerry nods, just slightly. “What is it?”

“You have to tell me what happened back there.”

Gerry swallows and closes his eyes, just for a moment. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Michael echoes, and kisses him one last time before pulling away.

They’re both silent as they get back into the car and pull away, onto the road. Michael doesn’t press, though. He trusts Gerry to tell him.

“She’s my mother,” he says, finally. He’s staring blankly through the windscreen, fingers clutching the wheel so tight that his knuckles are white. “She … I haven’t seen her in years.”

Michael doesn’t know what to say to that. His own father wasn’t exactly _good_ , but he was never terrified of the man in the way Gerry seems to be.

“She’s been in jail,” Gerry adds, after a long silence. “She … she’s a murderer.”

“Oh,” Michael breathes. He can see the beginnings of tears beginning to gather in Gerry’s eyes. “Did she…”

“My dad,” Gerry says, before Michael can finish his question. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Michael says again. He wants to say _I’m so sorry_ , but it doesn’t seem like enough.

He doesn’t think Gerry would appreciate it, anyway.

“She practically got off scot-free,” Gerry says. His voice is quiet, and Michael can hear it shaking. “She convinced everyone he’d been abusive. _Self-defence_.”

He sounds bitter, angry, and Michael reaches across the car, just wanting to touch him. He wants to help, to make things better.

“He wouldn’t have done that,” Gerry says, rubbing away the tears with the back of a hand. “He wouldn’t.”

His voice cracks. “I miss him so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers, and Gerry sobs, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“She would kill me too if she could,” he says. “And you.”

Michael thinks he understands why Gerry is so afraid, now.

“I have to protect you,” Gerry says, tightening his grip on the wheel. “I won’t let her take you from me too.”

“She won’t,” Michael swears, brushing his fingers across Gerry’s leg. There’s little else he can do, not like this, but he aches to hug Gerry properly. “I wouldn’t let her. I swear to god.”

Gerry sniffs, wipes the back of his hand across his face, and doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything more, but nor does he turn his music back on. The two of them drive in silence, the light of each streetlamp they pass glinting off the tears on Gerry’s face.

Michael sleeps, or tries to, but it’s fitful, and he wakes every few hours. Gerry doesn’t stop the car, doesn’t rest even for a moment. Just keeps driving, eyes fixed on the road.

The arrival of dawn is like a breath of fresh air. They’re driving straight into the sun, and Michael watches as the sky turns purple and orange and pink as it begins to peek over the horizon.

When he glances over at Gerry he finds that the hard set of his shoulders has relaxed into something gentler.

It’s a new day. Everything is going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my notes this chapter was called Mary Mary Quite Contrary i just thought you should know that


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